Girl Anachronism
by Zamelot
Summary: Behold the world's worst accident! Since when has insanity become an attrative trait? For Misao, nothing could be better or worse than having the guy of her dreams want to counsel her. Ah, life is no cabaret.
1. Taxis

Let me just say ahead of time that I have nothing against blondes and I'm well aware that not all of them are preps. Some of my best friends are blondes or preps. I hate it when blondes dye their pretty hair such dreary colors like black or brown. I'd love to have blonde hair, but it's just too bad that I'm part Asian, thus I recieve dark hair because of genetics.

* * *

The blondes ALWAYS win! No matter how hard I try, the fairhaired-preppy-skirtwearing-pursecarrying-makeupusing-Abercrombie&Fitchfollowing girl always captures the attention of the guy I set my sights on. Can I help it if myparents were BLACK haired Japanese people? Is it my fault that it is nature's way of having me inherit the dominant trait of brown eyes instead of the recessive trait of green? What can I possibly do to change the fact that I grew up in a traveling circus? 

Yes. A circus. I grew up in a circus. A traveling one at that. I just flew over from Romania.

I'm upset as you can see. This new girl we picked up in Poland took the guy I've had my eye on for weeks captive. Under her spell of pretty blondness. Anyway, you're probably wondering how I made it through school without kids harassing me into fire walking during recess, sword swallowing during lunch, and cutting the teacher in half during class. Don't bother. I didn't go to school. I was home schooled.

Well, technically (if you wanna get technical), I was not HOME schooled because I didn't really have a HOME. I lived in a tent/cart type thing like in Dumbo. Go watch the movie if you haven't. I heard it recently came out on DVD. Anyway, my dad decided to become a gypsy so tents were preferable.

If you think that's pitiful, get this: I was the only child below fifteen years of age. We picked orphans up here and there, but most were fully-grown. Sooooo, I had no one my age to play with, speak with, perform with, or follow an example of. Naturally, whenever I got into trouble or did something bad, my parents would spaz and since there were no other children around to observe the punishments of, they spoke in hush-hush voices after dinner (big bonfires with some big edible animal) about how worried they were that I'd become a delinquent or maybe it was a stage I was going through. The only kid! Can you imagine? The only kid!

My parents were magicians, psychics, daredevils, and acrobats. We were the fab three acrobats. Hey! Just like Robin! Except for the fact that my parents didn't meet their end by falling fifty feet to their doom because of Two-Face as it was portrayed in the comics and Tim Burton film, Batman Returns—which, by the way, was way better'n' Batman Begins. That'd be cool…not my parents meeting their gruesome deaths—and, man, I hope they never do—but being Dick Grayson and becoming Batman's partner.

Darn! I'm straying from my point. Ehh… let's say that I'm sick of traveling with a freak show. I mean, I love it at the same time, but I don't really want to spend the rest of my life walking on ropes, taming lions, juggling, and using stilts. No matter how much I need them. Genetics made sure my dream of being _at least_ five four never saw the light of day.

So what am I doing now? HA! You'll never guess I'll just have to tell you.

I'm at the police station. In the US. Why? Because I took a taxi.

Of course, the moment I exited that taxi—it had to run over a puddle and splash me directly from behind. I was reliving the Bridget Jones Diary! It certainly didn't help that I was wearing a yellow pleated skirt and a white shirt—in the middle of a crowded city! I could already feel all the lecherous eyes on my backside from across the street. In order to save what remained of my damaged pride, I raised my arm up and stuck my first three fingers (thumb not included) into the air.

"Between the lines, pervs!" I shouted. "Read between the lines!" Hey, you learn stuff when you watch movies. As I stalked off, I heard snickers from behind me and then the catcalls started. Whatever was left of my pride immediately decided to abandon me. From under my now translucent yellow skirt, everyone could see my Hello Kitty underwear and beneath my white Casablanca shirt, my matching lavender and pink bra was visible to the world. All I wanted to do was melt into a giant puddle there and then to save myself the embarrassment—when it hit me: I left my luggage in the taxi.

Now imagine this: a fairly short young woman, drenched—from the back—hair down to her squeaky sneakers running frantically down the street for the nearest police station, which just so happens to be thirteen blocks away. Yippee. My lucky number. Not to mention the back of her skirt and shirt was see through—and sticking!

By the time I arrived at the station thirteen blocks down, I was half hysterical and half spastic. The guards at the door so cleverly mistakened me for an abused streetwalker. That hit a –six with a hammer on the 'Ring the Bell to See How Much You Can Make Self Esteem Dissolve' for me. After I'd carefully explained to them several times that I was newly arrived from Romania and the taxi driving me took off with my luggage still in the trunk, they let me into the building.

Once I entered, I was instantly reminded of the police station in _Edward Scissorhands_. It was that plain. The officer I'd been deposited into the care of looked as if he'd rather be anywhere but here. I snorted. You and me both, buddy.

"What seems to be the problem?" he asked carelessly automatically, not exactly interested in what was a disaster for me.

I sighed, aggravated, and rolled my eyes. Sensing my frustration, he flicked ash off the end of his cigarette at me, then placed the cancer stick back in between his lips. Had he not been a cop, I eagerly would've rearranged his face.

"I just arrived from the airport and the taxi I was in drove off with my luggage," I repeated for the nth time within an hour.

He nodded again uninterestedly. "So what do you want from us? To hunt down all the taxis in the city until we find yours?"

"No, of course not," I replied calmly, reminding myself of Mr. Darcy in the latest Pride and Prejudice film. "I want you to stop me before I decide to do something drastic such as attempt suicide—of course I want you to find the taxi!"

The officer blew his hair out of his eyes in a cloud of smoke making me wonder if that bothered his eyes. He then crushed the cigarette out in his ashtray and stood up from behind his desk while I shivered in front of it. "Alright, alright. We'll try to find it for you. Take a seat in the waiting room and… I'll get someone to get you a towel,"

So, just like that, I was dumped into a waiting room with a pathetic excuse for a towel over my shoulders. The room was basically empty save for this tall guy beside me. And when I say tall, I mean TALL! For me at least who's barely five two. C'mon! When your mother's five five/six and your dad's just about five eight…six foot two is gigantic.

Somewhere along the line, I ended up blabbing on and on about how ticked I was that practically every season of Ren and Stimpy was out on DVD and the Animaniacs weren't supposed to come out until mid to late July. He kinda just…sat there starring ahead while I talked my mouth off until the evil cop came back and told me the taxi was found. He also said that the poor guy drove off because he "couldn't believe he was rid of me". Gosh, make a girl feel welcome. So, as I was walking out, I turned back and shouted bye to my silent stranger.

"And my name's Misao!" I added.

For once, he glanced up at me with brightblue eyes and mumbled something under his breath that I couldn't quite make out. It sounded something like sushi…hey! Maybe he was telling me his favorite food so that if we ever met again, I'd know what food to order! That's right. I was in a new country for college so I could do something productive with my life so I may as well start off by thinking on the positive side!

"Sushi it is!" I shouted back.

* * *

End scene! AU obviously. I'm trying to keep Misao in character. I had to make her a little flakey though for my own amusment. 


	2. Arachnophobia

_Quick note: I love the internet. _

Chapter Two: Arachnophobia

"Misao! Quickly! Misao!"

I groaned and shifted against the pillow of my arms, trying to block out the annoying whine of my boss. It was too early for my brain to function. Back at the circus, I'd be up early, but the time between fully awakening and properly functioning was spent paying homage to my deceased ancestors, thus my body's reluctance to oblige at 7:30am.

"Misao! You are currently dealing with the man who has the power of whether you continue receiving paychecks or not!"

He had to use that against me.

I reluctantly rose from the comfort of the counter and groggily made my way to my boss's 'private quarters' where he was currently squealing like a pig. I opened the door to find him cowering on the filing cabinet, squirming against the wall. When he saw me, he pointed shakily at something on the floor by his desk. Slightly amused at the sort of dance his spazing resembled, I moved toward his desk to—

"Holy smokes! A spider!" I shouted, practically climbing out the window on the wall to the left of his desk. Didn't the guy know I had a phobia of the dark dwelling arthropods!

"Kill it! Kill it! Kill it!" he yelled to me, looking more like a dog at a fire hydrant than my usually calm and collected employer, causing me to momentarily wonder if he had a twin or split personality.

I seized the first object in my grasp, which happened to be an edition of the New York Times (thank God! I soil that lousy opinionated paper!). I threw it down over the hairy, six legged creature and attempted to squash it underfoot, but it crawled away—and toward me! I all but threw myself out the window. I suppose that if I hadn't been so hysterical and horrified, the situation at hand would have been hilarious.

So, after a good 45 minutes, we got the bugger and flushed its lifeless carcass down the toilet. Actually, _I_ got the spider. My boss simply screamed, cowered, and tried to tell me where it went. He wasn't much help, to be honest. It almost crawled up my pants three times.

Pfft. Here I am: a freshman attending one of the best universities in the country, being reduced to killing spiders for my squeamish boss. I should go back to the circus. Better yet, get him to join.

"Thanks, Misao," he said, mopping his brow with his handkerchief as if he'd done all the work. "I owe you one. You saved my life."

"You owe me your first born," I growled, pointing at him. If he ever got married. Which I doubted. But I kept that last part to myself. We may be chummy, but he was still my boss. And I really needed those paychecks.

"Misao, the café's not too crowed today, so you can cut out early if you want—"

"That's nice of you, but I really prefer my first reward. The one _I _suggested,"

He laughed and gingerly climbed down from the filing cabinet. He was a good foot and a half shorter than me, and heck, that was saying something. He'd be cute, I supposed, if only he were a bit taller. "I'm single and like it that way," he told me.

Unknown to him, his offer to let me cut out early was the best reward in the world! My classes started a little after noon, and before then, almost nobody is in the library. I'd have the entire dog gone place to myself! Does anyone know just how awesome having a whole library to themselves is? Libraries these days are so under appreciated; the Internet has taken the place of so many things.

At 9:45 AM, I kissed my boss on the cheek and ran… before anyone could call me back. The campus was a good sixteen blocks from the Japanese café I worked at (Shirobeko), but after my last encounter with taxis, I settled on walking. Besides, I needed the exercise. Not that I was overweight or anything. I actually think I could put on a few pounds. Maybe I'd look better. And not so damn young!

The library's parking lot was deserted except for the gray '93 Chevy under the cherry tree on the far left, which belonged to the librarian, and what looked like an '87 Subaru, which I didn't pay much attention to.

I climbed the concrete steps and pushed open the sophisticated glass door, entering my haven. The ceiling was high and lined with yellow floresant lights. Mahogany shelves that met the ceiling half way filled the entire mid and backsides of the room. But what really blew me off was that the front part of the room was packed with countless Dell computers. I bet people only came in here to use the technology that was once in such short supply, but is now taken full advantage of.

Anyway, I made my way to the history section after waving to the friendly librarian who was a Jimmy Durante clone (don't know what he looks like? Use your precious technology and google him. And that's Jimmy with a capital J). History is such a wonderful subject. So wonderful in fact that I'm majoring in it. I intend on becoming a museum expert person one day. Oh, the wonderful costumes I could wear to get the tourist into it!

I could be a kunoichi one day—and a guest at a masquerade ball the next! Or perhaps a girl from the Victorian era or a pirate like Anne Bonney, Mary Reed, Rachel Wall, or Grace O'Malley! I know that if there was a museum tour guide who did that, I'd totally get a kick out of it and go back everyday! Ha! A museum would make so much money if they had their hands on me!

But I belong to no one! (Sorry, that's the independent, dramatic side of me)

I held the thick volume on the Weimar era under my arm and made my way contently to the check out area. Mind you, I'm _very_ happy. No sarcasm in that last sentence. I was skipping around and everything despite the fact that half my body was bent to one side because of the volume. You know how it is when you get those _really_ rare fits of giddiness? You just can't help but laugh at everything like it's all one big inside joke? You laugh at how the sky is blue—or—or why the sea changes color when it rains or even how funny your hair looks in the reflection of the built in café. It's so funny that you drop your bag to the floor to fix it.

There were times when I swore that my hair defied the very laws of gravity. My parents even made a joke about it and said that they'd set up a stall for me in a freak show when I went to start my own business and they'd kicked me out of their tent. And some people have the nerve to ask why my self-esteem is faulty.

Amazingly, for once, my hair resembled my mother's hard three-hour battle with the brush and winning. A few strands out of place, but nothing too bad. I don't know why it looked so funny to me. I put my blue contacts today and—

You'll never believe it, but I had to do it:

I let out the most violent, ecstatic, screech of my life:

"SUSHI!"

I swear I shook the building. If I had attended normal people high school, I should've been captain of the cheerleading squad. I may not have the looks for it, but I most certainly had the voice box and energy. Anyhoo…guess who was seated by the window I stood (screaming) before?

Actually, now that I think about it, I never caught his name.

…And boy, was I glad he didn't know mine. He looked about ready to murder someone now. Who knew silence meant so much to him! Out of sheer luck (on my par) and pure stupidity (on his he didn't see me and I sped to the check out area as fast as the book would let me.

Ahhhh, guess who was waiting for me at the door though?

Sushi. The murderous look still in place.

Well…he was at the police station. Murder could be something natural to him—no matter how good-looking or nice he seemed. Look at the Ken and Barbie Murders for example! Oh, why couldn't everything be like the Andy Griffith Show? I did the only thing I could do:

Walk right past him, my head turned away, the book next to my head on my shoulder.

Of course it didn't fool him.

"Makimachi,"

Oh, crap. I just remembered—I forgot to go get my bag by the café!

Sushi made his way around the part of my face that wasn't shielded, which was basically in front of me. I liked him better sitting down Five foot one is such a curse. You have to crane your neck at everything. Wanna know what's worse? He did know my name! Forget the Ken and Barbie Murders—this was the Son of Sam! My hair may be black—but it's long!

"You dropped your bag,"

Did you hear a record scratch? Huh. I guess he's not gonna murder me and hack all my hair off my stiff, lifeless corpse. He looks sort of nice now. Very sharp, intense blue eyes.

"Oh. Thank you."

You know, now that I think about it, referring to a guy by his favorite food is sort of…uncomfortable.

"Out of curiosity…" he began to scrutinize me closely. "Are you in my business class?"

Well, I'll be! I probably showed up for two of those classes. Anything involving math or statistics or foreign affairs is beyond my grasp of understanding. It's rather amazing that he remembered me. Must be my hair…

"Maybe. Weren't you my seat buddy at the police station?"

If I saw any falters in his stony face before, they got kicked off the field. He would've stolen Ed Sullivan's streak of awards for the stoniest face. Man, could he at least crack some sort of facial expression and not make me feel like a cornered, dying, pathetic creature being stalked. All he needed to do now was start circling me.

"That's not an event which I'd like to reminisce over,"

"Oh."

He was back to scrutinizing me. Gosh, I'm not dead yet! "But I knew that I'd seen you before. I just couldn't put my finger on it."

"Ah. Well, don't reminisce over it,"

I should've just left it at that and walked away, but God knows I'm not the brightest crayon in the box.

"Um, I just got off of work a little while ago and have some free time before class… and I'd really love to continue this conversation…. Would you like to go for… some… sushi?" Who cared if I was rushing things? Get it while you can.

"I hate sushi."

"Oh." Oh.

"But I like tea," Well! Are we getting somewhere or are we getting somewhere! Maybe we could take about our classes or my time at the circus! "But I have to get to work now before class."

Sushi doesn't like sushi, but he likes tea. Crackerjacks, I'm so embarrassed I don't even remember how I started calling him sushi!

"Tea? Tea sounds good,"

Ed Sullivan face still in tact, he nodded. "How about Saturday at noon?"

"Makimachi Misao," I numbly held out my hand in a daze.

"I know," he responded, slightly puzzled, but a faint flicker of light in his eyes. "I read it on your bag and saw you in class. Aoshi Shinomori."

Last name last, first name first… Sushi… Aoshi… can you see my mistake? Cause I can't.

"So…Saturday at noon?" he repeated.

He nodded again and swung his jacket over his shoulder in an oh-so-50s fashion like Jackie Wilson. He inclined his head and began to walk out. I don't know. Me, being an airhead and all, he was probably on his way to his car when it hit me. Tea. I knew tea, but for the love of—

"Aoshi-sama! Where are we gonna meet!"

_Thank You So Much To My Reviewers! _

_this chapter didn't want to be written. it gave me a hard time also considering the fact that i wanted to write the third chapter more than this one. but i needed interaction b/w aoshi and misao before hand. so, this cahpter isn't all that great. yeah... see ya next chapter. _


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